Post by Peter Holden on May 1, 2014 17:08:21 GMT -8
Whenever Peter began to think that he knew his school from top to bottom, another part revealed itself to him. Thus was the case of the auditorium, which was a part of the school that he hadn't paid much attention to before. Now, however, he was exploring, or looking for good pictures, actually. Camera slung around his neck, he'd entered the room to take pictures of the empty stage, but had soon looked behind it, intrigued by the shadows backstage that were sure to make for interesting pictures.
There, he'd found a gold mine. Instruments of every sort were nestled in every corner of the room, hardly neat, but not really messy either. Snapping a couple shots of the scene, Peter wandered through the instruments. Some were common and recognizable, while others had names that Peter could not bring to mind. Reaching the back wall of the room he came upon a piano: a grand thing that wasn't the kind found in primary schools, but it wasn't quite in the condition to be played in concerts.
Sliding onto the bench without really thinking, Peter slid his fingers over the keys, memories of melodies shifting through his bones. He had been subjected to piano lessons his entire childhood, but he hadn't liked it. Kate had stuck with her violin, but Peter had dropped his piano practice upon gaining freedom at Blue Ridge. Thoughtlessly, he began to play. It was clear that he was a bit rusty, but the years on years of skills hadn't left him, and he grew more comfortable as he played on.
There, he'd found a gold mine. Instruments of every sort were nestled in every corner of the room, hardly neat, but not really messy either. Snapping a couple shots of the scene, Peter wandered through the instruments. Some were common and recognizable, while others had names that Peter could not bring to mind. Reaching the back wall of the room he came upon a piano: a grand thing that wasn't the kind found in primary schools, but it wasn't quite in the condition to be played in concerts.
Sliding onto the bench without really thinking, Peter slid his fingers over the keys, memories of melodies shifting through his bones. He had been subjected to piano lessons his entire childhood, but he hadn't liked it. Kate had stuck with her violin, but Peter had dropped his piano practice upon gaining freedom at Blue Ridge. Thoughtlessly, he began to play. It was clear that he was a bit rusty, but the years on years of skills hadn't left him, and he grew more comfortable as he played on.
